


As Long As You're Mine

by firefright, Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, DickDami Week 2016, Harems, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Robin Pile, Slavery, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the crown prince, custom dictates that on his eighteenth birthday Damian will choose an omega from the offerings of the noble houses of his country to be the first member of his harem. All of them are exquisite, as expected, but it's the omega brought to him by Slade Wilson that catches Damian's attention more than any other. Richard is beautiful, graceful, and as Damian will soon come to discover, also full of surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, Firefright here! So this is a new story me and Skalidra have been working on, after we started talking about the basic plot idea for the first couple of chapters over on tumblr for the 'sexual innocence' prompt of DickDami week, and then accidentally ~~on purpose~~ ended up with a ton of worldbuilding and plans for this to become an eventual Robin pile. But since the main focus of the story is still very much about Dick and Damian, we're decided to start posting it this week anyway XD
> 
> Warning, this is going to be a lot of filth and indulgence into the most trashy of ABO tropes. Please enjoy!
> 
> (For clarification, this is not meant as an accurate representation of Muslim history or culture. No characters are written as Muslim, and the word 'harem' is used in its Western-culture societal sense, to mean 'a group of women/men who belong to one man, usually royalty of some kind'. If this makes you uncomfortable, you may not want to read this.)

The smell alone is almost enough to stop Damian in his tracks. As it is his nostrils flare, lungs expanding, head tipping back a half an inch and _no more_ because he has control of himself. His mother's scent is the strongest thing, since she's walking directly beside him, but beyond that are dozens more scents. There's the almost-sour, rich smell of alphas outside of his family, dozens of them, but then the air smells heavily, _overwhelmingly_ , of omega. Not the more muted, overlaid scents of those mated and bound to their alpha, but the distracting, enticing, sugar and spice scent of blossomed, unclaimed omegas.

He grits his teeth for the two seconds before he and his mother are sweeping through the partially sheer curtain leading to his grandfather's throne room. Then he forces himself to relax, to notice the scents but not react, as he's been trained. It's beneath him to let mere scent affect him enough to change his behavior.

His mother stays a touch behind his shoulder, as is proper, as he accepts the greetings of one nobleman after another. The turnout is larger than most gatherings his grandfather hosts, as is expected. This is the day he comes of age, and a chance for one of these vultures to gain favor with his family by being the one to present the best omega to him; the omega that he'll take as the first member of his harem. Few of the noble families under their control would pass up such an opportunity.

It isn't hard to spot the omegas. The alphas are in their finest clothing, as are their mates, but the omegas are shrouded in heavy cloaks that reveal very little except bare feet and the occasional flash of skin. For now. They all bear thin, silver or golden chains that link them to their current owners, hanging loose and adding a soft tinkle to every movement. No heavier chains here; no noble family would dare to present an untrained omega slave to him.

He takes the opportunity of being forced to greet all these nobles to, discreetly, scent their offerings as well. He can't get all that much from them, but he can get a grip on the basics of their emotional state. Nervous, calm, aroused, excited. In one case, that makes his head turn from the alpha who's bent into a low bow — a lesser noble, so it's appropriate — and seek out that cloaked figure, smelling calm but laced with the richer, almost caramel scent of _heat_.

It clings to the back of his throat, makes him swallow as he starts, "Your omega—”

"It's forbidden to bring an omega in heat to a presentation," his mother says, much more sharply. "Were you unaware, Lord Wilson?"

The alpha bowing to him — Slade Wilson, a mercenary by trade but granted lands and a title by his grandfather years ago — straightens up, not reaching for his mother's hand to greet her as well just yet. A wise decision, considering her tone. He does smile though, with just a touch of teeth, and turns to his cloaked omega to click his tongue. The omega eases forward, coming to stand at Wilson's side instead of behind him. His gaze catches on a flash of golden skin, where the gold of the chain leads, and he stares for a moment.

"He has a day and a half left before he's truly in heat, my lady," Wilson answers, gaze dipping downwards. "His scent changed no more than four hours ago. We were already on the road."

He hasn't had all that much interaction with this particular noble, but he feels his estimation click a small notch higher. It is not _required_ that Wilson show respect to his mother, since she is, after all, an omega to his alpha, but those who do are the ones that recognize that she has power all her own. His mother may not have the power or standing of an alpha, but she can kill as easily as him or his grandfather, and she has not remained unmated for so many years because she is _weak_. His mother has had dozens of suitors, but none have proved strong or skilled enough to impress her.

Except his father, but that was never and will never be an official mating.

His mother steps forward, pushing the omega back a step and pressing close. Something is said, below the range of his hearing, and the omega nods, answers equally quietly. His mother draws away then, turning to Wilson and offering her hand, so he can greet her as an alpha of lower status should. Wilson sinks to one knee, taking her hand lightly in his and pressing a short kiss to it, eyes downcast and head bowed.

"An attempt to play the system, Lord Wilson?" his mother demands, as he stands back up.

"A fortuitous coincidence," is the mild correction. "I have faith in the desirability of the omega I've brought; I would have presented him regardless."

"The house of al Ghul appreciates your attendance," he says, calling the conversation away from the topic of the omega now standing just behind and to the side of Wilson's bulk. "Thank you for the offering you've brought, Lord Wilson."

"It's my honor, your Highness," Wilson answers, with another inclination of his head. "I hope his presentation pleases you when the time comes."

That scent still clings to the back of his throat, but he carefully keeps his gaze away from that cloaked figure. "We'll see. Enjoy your night, Lord Wilson."

Wilson bows, the omega following suit, and he turns and walks away, off to the next person he hasn't spoken with yet. That rich hint of caramel won't leave his nose, now that he's smelled it, but he does his best to ignore it. He's smelled omegas in pre-heat before, and even in full heat, and he's controlled himself before. He won't fall prey to his baser instincts now. Just because Wilson's had the cunning to bring an omega with a tempting scent, doesn't mean that he's going to let himself be more likely to pick that omega. His mother's taught him better.

He'll pick the omega with the best looks, the most useful skills, and the most pleasing attitude. After all, this is the first member of his harem, so he has to choose something worthy of the al Ghul name. Something that can make all the other lords envy him, that will arch and show off and be _his_ , in every moment. _His_.

He makes it through the rest of the lords with only a modicum of irritation, none of which he allows to show. It doesn't mean that he isn't relieved when he reaches the end and his grandfather calls the gathered lords and ladies to their meal, or that he isn't _very_ relieved that he's sitting at his grandfather's right hand, with his mother on the other side, so no one else is close enough to engage him in conversation. He eats, listens to the conversation he can pick up, and trades words with his mother and grandfather when they ask. But, mostly, he watches the forms of the cloaked omegas as they kneel behind their owners' chairs, making notes of the ones who fidget, and those that stay perfectly still and calm.

Wilson's omega is still.

Eventually, once their guests have mostly stopped eating, and the slaves are clearing dishes away, his grandfather calls attention with a ringing tap of a fork to his glass. The room falls quiet.

"Lords and Ladies," his grandfather says, as he pushes his chair back and rises from the table. "As you all know, this gathering was called in celebration of my grandson, Damian, and his coming of age. And now, as tradition dictates, it is time for him to choose the first member of his harem." Something in his chest flutters. "Those of you who have brought offerings, present them."

Chairs scrape as the lords move, pushing away from the table and pulling their omegas up, guiding them forward. There's a gap between the lower tables and their elevated one, and it's there that the lords make a line of their offerings, standing several feet behind them and holding the other ends of those delicate chains. It takes them a minute to arrange themselves satisfactorily, and then to allow a pause for any other omega to make themselves known.

"Reveal them," his grandfather commands.

Some of the owners reach forward, pulling the heavy cloaks off their omegas by the back, others click tongues and their omegas obey the silent instruction. He almost wishes he didn't notice, but Wilson's omega doesn't need direction at all. One shoulder rolls, slipping the cloak off of bare golden skin, before its own weight makes it slither off his back and to the floor. In the moment where the rest of them are discarding their coverings, he just looks at that omega.

Skin made golden by the sun, with a faint dusky undertone to it that sets him apart as something exotic. Black hair, shorter than most omega styles prefer but long enough to grip and pull, and it bares all the skin of that throat, that _bare_ throat, because contrary to what he was expecting the omega's chain isn't connected to a collar, but to a second thin, gold chain that's hooked at either end to the omega's nipples. The implication of that chain, and the instant thought of pulling at it, makes his breath catch.

"Damian."

He looks up, startled but unwillingly to show it, unwilling to admit that he's been staring at Wilson's offering. "Yes, Grandfather?"

His grandfather looks all too knowing, as he sits back down, but doesn't call him out on his distraction. "Pick your offering, grandson. It's your choice."

He dips his head, then pushes his own chair back and gets to his feet. He absolutely doesn't stare at Wilson's omega as he circles the table, and descends to the row of omegas.

Because he's not staring, he certainly doesn't notice that the omega is the oldest in the line, by a couple of years. Stunning still, with impossibly bright blue eyes sharpened by lines of black drawn around them, and lips made red and wet with something; he's almost convinced the omega's been biting at them to make them that way. He doesn't notice that Wilson's omega isn't wearing anything but some semi-opaque bits of blue fabric around his waist, falling little farther than his mid thigh, and that the body laid mostly bare for his perusal has more than a hint of defined musculature to it, absolutely _nothing_ like the soft, smooth lines that are usually favored in omegas. Most importantly, he doesn't notice that the rich, caramel tang has returned to the back of his throat, now that he can really smell it again.

He doesn't notice any of it.

* * *

 

It takes every bit of the discipline Slade instilled in him over the years for Dick to stay still in the prince’s presence. An effort helped by the presence of his - hopefully soon to be former - master standing behind him, single eye focused sharply on the back of his neck like a warning.

If he fails here there’ll be punishment later, but if he succeeds…

Dick watches the prince out of the corner of his eye as he begins his inspection of the other omegas in the line, starting at the opposite end of the line from where he stands. There are a lot of them here today, a lot of competition - both male and female - brought from every corner of the kingdom. Some even from beyond that; slaves purchased from foreign traders by the nobles of this land in the hopes that something more exotic might entice the prince’s favour. And Dick - who travelled far and often in his youth before the loss of his family saw him sold into slavery - can recognise the origins of each and every one of them.

But still, despite the attractiveness of the other slaves around him, Dick’s not afraid of failure. He knows the extent of his own beauty; not out of any arrogant narcissism of his own, but because he’s spent his whole life being told that he’s attractive by those around him. It’s the very reason why Slade bought him in the first place. The reason why - at an age when most of his kind would be settled with at least one pup at their heels - Dick still remains untouched and unmated by any alpha.

If Prince Damian chooses him for his harem today then that will finally change, and Slade will finally have the political sway he’s been hungering for. It’s the moment his whole life has been building to, and Dick’s toes curl against the floor as Damian draws closer, but otherwise he doesn’t move. He forces himself to stay still and steady despite the low throbbing in the pit of his stomach. But when the prince stops in front of him, it takes all he has not to lick his lips.

His pre-heat state affects him just as much as it does any alpha around him. Dick can taste Damian’s scent on the air; young, fit and domineering. It makes his insides squirm with hunger, knowing he’s so close to being out from under Slade’s absolute control. And judging by the twitch of the prince’s nose when he looks at him, as well as the dilated black pupils of his eyes, he’s not the only one affected.

Dick’s heat falling in line with the prince’s coming of age really had been a coincidence, one that was hopefully fortuitous for both of them. It isn’t possibly to influence the frequency or timing of an omega’s heat, and Dick’s been having regular cycles all his life, ever since he got his first at the tender age of thirteen. He’d call it fate if he believed in that sort of thing, rather than just lucky chance.

He tilts the corners of his lips up just a little as the alpha studies him, shifting his weight in a way that draws Damian’s attention down his body and then back up to his bare throat. The prince swallows thickly. “You…”

“Yes, your highness?” Dick bows his head, enough to be demure and respectful, but without breaking eye contact. It’s a calculated risk. Some alphas liked their omegas to be completely submissive, but based on the information Slade had fed him about Damian al Ghul - and more particularly about the mother he’d been raised by - Dick is confident that is not the case with this one. He wants him, he’d seen it the moment Damian first laid eyes on him. His inspection of the rest of the line had merely been for show.

The air between them feels hot and heavy when their eyes meet, like a pregnant thunder cloud about to break. The prince is handsome, in ways Dick had never let himself dream the alpha he’d one day be given to would be. His skin is copper, his eyes jade, and his dark hair is the colour of jet; the background to aristocratic features and a warm mouth, with bold expressive eyebrows. He’d always feared being given to someone older, maybe even like Ra’s himself - fixed in his ways and impossible to change - but with youth comes possibility, and the hope for a better life than the one he’s had under Slade.

“This one,” Prince Damian says finally, tearing his gaze from Dick’s to look past him at his master, then to the assembled court. “I choose this Lord Slade’s offering.”

“Very good, your highness. It is my honour to gift him to you. Know his name is Richard, and he will serve you well,” Slade says, stepping forwards again. Only someone like Dick - who’s known him for over a decade - would pick up on the smug self-satisfaction in his voice. His now former-master bows as he offers out the chain attached to Dick’s piercings to the prince.

“I’m sure,” says Damian, rising a little in Dick’s estimation as he barely holds back on his sarcasm before more formally saying, “Thank you for your generous gift, Lord Slade. I gratefully accept,” and taking the chain from him, wrapping the delicate golden links around his own hand.

Just like that. Just like that Dick’s life now belongs to another. In body at least, if not yet in heart and soul. He’s been a slave more than half his life, yet sometimes it still startles him when he remembers what that truly means.

Slade’s hand touches the small of his back. A final parting brush of fingers; a warning, a command. _Please him_.

Dick doesn’t need to be told twice.

More words are said as Damian guides him away from Slade to stand beside the rest of the royal family. Mostly by Ra’s, since his grandson can’t seem to keep his focus off of Dick. A fact that makes him preen inwardly, if not overtly. Dick keeps himself standing steady, a step behind Damian’s shoulder, watching as the rest of the omegas are covered up again and handed off to servants to be returned to their master’s guest quarters within the palace. The celebration is not over yet for tonight, so the nobles themselves will remain to enjoy still more food and entertainment.

Dick himself is permitted to stay a little while longer than the rest, a pretty decoration guided to kneel at Damian’s side so that he can be flaunted in front of the entire court like the trophy he is. But eventually Dick sees Talia approach her son, who jumps just barely at her sudden touch to his shoulder. He tilts his head, listening as she whispers in his ear, then nods.

A snap of fingers summons a beta servant out of nowhere, and Damian’s tone is imperious as he hands Dick’s chain over to them, “Take him to my harem. See that he gets there safely and untouched.” His eyes drift back to Dick, and it’s to him Damian speaks now more than any other. “I will be along shortly.”

Dick bows his head again, then follows the servant out of the hall and into the palace beyond.

The servant guides him briskly, without daring to spare Dick a glance or even a single word along the way. Their path takes them through opulent hallways, each containing more wealth than Dick has ever seen before in his life, before they head up a spiral staircase and along a corridor through to the prince’s quarters. Then further still to the series of rooms that have been set aside for Damian’s harem.

When he sees what lies beyond those heavy and well-guarded doors, Dick just barely refrains from gasping.

The central area of the harem is circular in build. A large, bright and open room. The walls are constructed from white marble, which in the day must easily reflect the light of the sun through the glass ceiling above. But even now, so late in the evening, Dick can’t help marvelling at the elegance of its construction, and at the clear sight it gives him of the moon hanging heavy in the sky. Glass is a rare commodity in their world, and to see it used in such quantity for so luxurious a purpose drives home to Dick just how far he’s risen in position now.

On every other side of the room - facing north, east and west - stand other doorways than the one he just entered through. Each is exquisitely carved from rosewood, and Dick guesses they must lead to the individual bedrooms meant for Damian’s harem once it grows larger.

(And it will grow larger, he knows. He may be the first, but Damian is a prince, and a prince is expected to have more than one sole omega to continue his line. But for now it’s just him, and Dick has to take advantage of that fact while he can.)

Left to his own devices by the servant, it’s tempting to go and explore those rooms, but instead Dick gathers up the length of his chain in his hands and steps directly forwards across the central area, to the sunken section of floor in the middle. This ‘pit’ has been filled with piles of soft silk cushions and thick carpets, and is easily reachable by a series of steps near to the main door through which Dick entered the harem. It’s a place meant for lounging and talking, among other things.

He descends down into it, and smiles when he feels his bare feet sink into the thick carpets at the bottom. The luxury here is breathtaking, beyond anything Dick ever imagined, but the biggest wonder of all - even more than the glass ceiling above - is the pool that sits at the very center of the room, filled with still clear water covering a mosaic of the al Ghul family crest.

Dick smiles as he dares to dip a toe into the water, watching the ripples spread out across its surface to the other side of the pool. The cool temperature of the water is a sharp contrast to the heat sitting low in his belly. A heat that intensifies with every passing minute. He runs his hand over his stomach as he wades further into the water, sighing at the temporary balm it provides.

It takes considerable effort to resist the urge to let his hand slip lower. To touch himself the way he so desperately needs, but Dick curbs it by reminding himself that the prince will be here soon. He won’t have to wait much longer. Then the powerful ache Slade has forced him to suffer through alone all these years while he waited for the right opportunity to come along will finally be sated.

He’s a little nervous, yes. Of course he is. Who wouldn’t be at the prospect of their first time? Especially with an alpha who’s virtually a stranger, but stronger than that fear is the buzz of excitement racing across his skin: the anticipation. He’s been raised for this, trained for this, and Dick firmly intends to follow through on his former-master’s desires for his future. Just maybe not in the way he - or the prince - expects.

The water swirls around Dick’s ankles as he turns, putting his focus into finding the most effective position to greet the prince in, because one thing he’s never forgotten from his childhood - from those all too brief years of freedom - is how to put on a show. 

* * *

 

It feels like the remainder of the celebration passes at a crawl. His new omega — Richard — is gone, escorted back to his harem's rooms to await his later arrival, and that makes it difficult to focus on their guests. His grandfather has pulled Lord Wilson aside to speak with him more privately — an open sign of favor in return for the gift he's given — and that leaves him with only his mother and the guests for company. Interesting as the inner political workings of his grandfather's empire can be at times, he has no desire or ability to focus on them tonight.

That sweet, enticing, caramel scent lingers on his hand, where he touched the omega's chain, and though it's just the barest hint it still pulls at his attention. He can't recall ever being quite so relieved to finally be dismissed before. He takes enough time to bid his mother and grandfather good night, and ensure that their guests know he's leaving, but no more.

He does _not_ run through the halls, regardless of how he wants to. He makes do with a swift stride instead, following the familiar path up to his rooms, and more importantly, the harem beyond them. He can only imagine what kind of experience he's about to have; he's laid with others before, mostly at his grandfather's insistence that he know how when the time came, but never with someone he could actually call _his_. Richard is _his._ No one to watch, or guide, or monitor exactly how intimate he is; there are no limitations on his own property.

Well, he won't be mating Richard, but that's small in the scheme of things. His actual mate will be someone highborn, and likely a match made for an alliance, not out of any sense of desire. It's unlikely to be anytime soon, either; it's not like his grandfather is in dire need of allies.

The guards at his room — betas, for the sake of safety — pull the door open as he approaches, and he sweeps through and into his rooms, then immediately towards the heavy door towards the very back. He pushes it open, breathes in the _thick_ scent of caramel, and barely remembers to close the door behind him before he steps further in.

The first sweep of his gaze might have missed Richard, if the omega didn't move, softly calling, "Master!"

His gaze snaps to the very center of the room, to the pool at the center of the recessed pit, and his breath catches in his throat. His omega is in the pool, arms folded over the edge and head cushioned on them, the length of his body stretched out beneath the water and… and entirely bare. The shimmery blue fabric that had been wrapped around his hips is lying beside the pool, evidently discarded upon entry. The water's movement distorts any true view of the skin beneath, but… perhaps the view will be clearer if he… gets closer.

Almost in a daze, he descends the steps, and Richard pushes up a few inches, breaking himself from the water. He steps forward until he finds himself standing in front of his omega, looking down at the rippling view of his back, and beyond that to incredible curves, and _long_ legs. It almost makes him startle when there's a touch to his left foot, and he looks down to find Richard's head resting next to it, eyes closed and face relaxed. Carefully, he sinks down to his knees and extends a hand to run his fingers through Richard's black hair. It's soft, still dry, and he gets a quiet, pleased sigh at the touch.

"Richard," he starts, glancing down into that pool again, "why are you in there?"

Blue eyes open, and Richard turns over onto his back, neck arched over the tiled edge and providing an all too tempting target. "Just trying to cool down a little, Master," his omega says, voice low and rich. "Would you like me to come out now?"

He considers for a moment, and then rationally makes himself decide that as tempting as it sounds to slip into that pool alongside Richard, to take him _there_ , it won't be comfortable. Certainly not once they're tied. "Yes," he answers plainly, and forces himself to pull his hand away.

Richard smiles, pushing up until he's sitting in the water and then turning his head to ask over his shoulder, "Would you like to dry me off, Master?"

For a moment, he can't find the focus to actually understand the question, let alone answer it. His attention is entirely focused on the water dripping down the planes of Richard's back, droplets sliding down the length of his spine and back into the water that now only comes up to that waist. When it registers that he's been asked a question he tears his gaze away, although looking up to find his omega's eyes slightly hooded, dark and focused, is hardly _less_ distracting.

"Yes," he manages to whisper, after another few moments. Richard shifts back, hands pressing against the edge of the pool and lifting himself, until he's sitting on the edge of it, feet and part of his calves still in it and back still facing him. But closer now. It feels _so_ much closer.

"I took one of the cloths beside the bath in the room I chose," Richard murmurs, and one arm slides out to point to a fairly large, folded one sitting at the corner of the pool.

He stretches out to grab it, and then presses it to Richard's back, slowly drying the wet skin. Even through the barrier of the soft cloth, he can feel the warmth of that skin. He manages to restrain himself until he's gotten Richard's back dry, as well as his arms, before he surrenders to the desire to lean in and nose at that bare throat, taking in a deep breath that _swamps_ him with his new omega's scent. Richard shivers, staying very still but giving a small, breathless whine.

An answering growl wrenches its way out of his throat before he can even think to stop it, and Richard _arches_ , head falling back and baring more of his throat, more open skin. He almost opens his mouth and just bites into the offered skin, sinks his teeth down into it to claim the way he wants to. Then Richard whines again, presses back and closer to him, and he remembers he doesn't _have_ to hold back. This isn't one of the omega slaves that his grandfather had used to show him the ways of the world, this is _his_ slave.

He drops the cloth, grabbing Richard's arms and pulling his omega back and fully out of the pool. Richard is pliant, easily submitting to being pulled back and pressed down into one of the piles of pillows. There's a faint rattle as he does, and his gaze sweeps down the still-wet skin of Richard's chest to that fine golden chain, hanging like a tease. He can't help taking the end of it in his hand, lifting until it pulls tight against the nipples it's attached to, and Richard arches up like the world's most glorious puppet.

" _Master_ ," Richard breathes, pushing up a few inches on his arms. "Please—” his head falls back, arching his throat in line with everything else "— _please_."

He takes in a breath, almost not noticing that it shakes a bit. His gaze stays fixed on that throat, trying to put at least a little actual thought into where he wants to bite, where he wants to leave the mark that will permanently claim Richard as his. It should serve as a warning, a repellent to any other alpha looking to take what is his, but it should also be in a position where it can be covered and hidden. Richard's purpose is to be desired, to be proof of his status, and he'd be a fool to leave a mark that will instinctively repel other alphas somewhere visible.

He relaxes the chain, lowering his hand to press it against Richard's stomach, to push him back down. "Roll over," he demands, voice low and growling enough he almost doesn't recognize it.

Richard's every motion is fluid, graceful as his omega slides beneath his hand, rolling closer to him and onto his stomach. The chain wraps around Richard's waist, up to where he's still holding the other end, and after a moment he lets it go to fall in curves across Richard's back instead. He leans down, sliding a hand up through Richard's hair to sweep it off the back of his neck and then curling it to a fist to hold him down. Richard's back rises, pushing up against his chest as he lowers his mouth to that neck, fitting his teeth over Richard's spine and taking in a deep breath through his nose.

Sugar, spice, _caramel,_ and _god_ he can smell that Richard's aroused, that he's willing, that he _wants_.

He bites down _hard_.

Skin splits under his teeth, and he growls into his mouthful as blood hits his tongue, pressing down harder on the back of Richard's skull. Richard gasps, but the neck between his teeth is pressing up into them, asking for more. He gives it.

Once he's sure that the wound will scar, once Richard is relaxed and submissive beneath him, he lets go. Richard stays down, loose beneath him, and it only feels natural to lie down at his omega's side, up against his back, and lick the blood away from the bite.

Richard gives a sigh of pleasure, pressing back against him. "I'm yours, Master," Richard murmurs, sounding lazy, satisfied in a way he's certainly _not_. That he _can't_ be. Not when he's a matter of hours from being truly in heat.

"You have been mine since I took your chain," he corrects, nuzzling at the back of Richard's neck, momentarily soothed by the bite there. "The bite makes no difference."

"It does to me," is Richard's answer. "You're the first alpha to touch me, Master."

He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath that smells and tastes of his omega. His… _untouched_ omega?

"I thought you'd been trained." The assumption is basic enough. Omega slaves are trained to serve, and how could you learn to serve an alpha without having experienced one? Obviously any gift offered to him would have been one unclaimed, unmated, but entirely untouched? At all? Such purity is _very_ rare.

"Most of my life." Richard stretches a bit, sighs, and then continues, "My previous master, Lord Wilson, bought me before my designation was clear. When I presented he saw my value, and made sure that I stayed as pure as possible. No alpha was ever allowed to touch me; my training came exclusively from other omegas."

He stares at the back of Richard's neck, and feels a sharp, sudden rush of possessiveness. He wraps his arm around Richard's waist, nipping at the skin in the center of the bite and then promising, "No other alpha ever _will_ be allowed. You are _mine_ , Richard; the only hands that touch you will be my own."

Richard turns slightly in his grip, enough for him to catch the edge of blue eyes and a smile. "Most people call me Dick, Master."

The name makes enough sense, as a term of familiarity. But… "I prefer Richard, for now." He rubs at the skin of Richard's chest, and admits, "I do not wish to call you what everyone else does."

He can see that smile widen a bit, before Richard turns further, enough to lean upwards and touch their noses, murmuring, "You can call me whatever you want; I'll answer."

He tightens his grip. "Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Skalidra's tumblr](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)
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> [Firefright's tumblr](http://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Firefright here again! So DickDami week on tumblr is having a makeup week, and we figured it was the perfect excuse to post the second chapter of this one up. Heat!sex ahoy! XD
> 
> (Skalidra is just going to leave the words to Firefright because she's tired. Actual comment next time. Promise!)

The pain from the bite ripples fresh and crisp down his neck. With every small movement of his head, Dick feels it pull anew, and if it hadn’t been for the swift laps of Damian’s tongue over the wound the blood would surely have run from the back of his neck and down onto the thick cushions beneath him by now. Yet it doesn’t bother him. He wondered if it would in that moment before Damian’s teeth dug into his flesh, but had been pleasantly surprised when his body’s only response to the pain was to intensify the arousal growing in the pit of his stomach.

It was a reaction that made Dick consider that Slade might have been slightly off in his estimation of how many hours are left before he enters true heat. Maybe it’s an aberration, or maybe it’s the presence of the full-blooded and eager alpha behind and above him where he’d had none before, but it definitely feels like his heat is coming more swiftly to him now than it ever has previously, and - given the circumstances - that’s not entirely a bad thing.

Dick makes sure to let out another needy whine as Damian’s hand slips back into his hair, moments before he crushes their mouths together. It’s a good kiss, eager; enough to tell Dick that his new master is in no way as inexperienced as he himself is. Damian has confidence; power that comes from both his birthright and learned skill.

In contrast Dick knows how to kiss, how to touch - particularly how to take care of himself - but the rest of his knowledge is based only in theory, learned from those who’d experienced what had been forbidden to him until now. Yet what he lacks in experience he makes up for in confidence, and performance. Damian had been his from the moment he first laid eyes on Dick, as much as the alpha clearly considers the situation to be the other way around.

He arches his back again as Damian’s tongue slides between his parted lips, making sure to respond with an appreciative moan that’s only half-faked compared to the whines. His thighs press together, trying to keep a lid on the slowly intensifying heat of the needy orifice between them. He’s wet, and getting wetter, and he knows that Damian can smell that on him too.

“Please,” he gasps, when Damian takes a break from ravishing his mouth. “Please, master.”

The hand that’s not in his hair moves again to his chest, tugging the chain against his nipples until Dick hisses, squirming back against his master again. Then Damian’s fingers rub across one abused nub, an eager growl sounding in his ear. “I assume these detach?”

“Y-yes, master. You can…” Dick swallows, flicking his eyes down and away demurely. “You can keep them fastened there, or they will clasp together around my neck. Or anywhere else you please.”

“Hm.” Damian runs his fingers along the chain thoughtfully. “That’s good to know, though I think I will keep them here for now, I enjoy the sight of you like this.” As if to add emphasis to his words, he gives the chain another tug, pulling another sharp gasp from Dick’s lips. “So _responsive_.”

“Please,” Dick tries again, arching his neck back. The motion puts pressure on the bite, and his hips jerk instinctively back against Damian’s. “ _Please_.”

“Be still,” Damian chides him, and Dick obeys the command at once, freezing in place. “I will give you what you crave, of that you have my word,” his lips and teeth tease at the junction of Dick’s neck and shoulder. “But first I would know every inch of you. To memorize what is mine.”

Dick bites back the frustration that threatens to rise in him at those words. The promise makes his toes curl with need, but he forces himself to stay submissive, wanton and open to Damian’s will. It’s not his place to argue, not yet anyway. He has to be patient for just a little longer. “Whatever you desire, master. I’m yours to do with as you will.”

“Yes, you are.”

There’s no faking the shiver he feels when Damian rolls him over onto his back, then settles down above him, kneeling with his own legs braced on either side of Dick’s. And Dick’s well aware of how he must look now, flushed and ready, with sweat already beginning to bead against his skin as part of the early symptoms of heat. He dips his tongue out, licks his lips, and watched as Damian’s expression darkens in turn.

One powerful hand slips around his throat, squeezing just tight enough to almost be a threat before letting go once again.

“Hold nothing back,” Damian commands him sternly. “If you do I will know, and I would hear every sound possible from your lips.”

Well that Dick _can_ work with. He arches his neck back against the pillows as Damian’s mouth returns to his throat, hissing as it puts pressure on the bite across his spine. “If that is your desire, Master.”

“It is.”

He whines as Damian licks and kisses across his throat, adding more nips and less significant bites to the soft skin there. None of them break the skin, but the bruises he lays therein almost feel like they do. Dick actually has to press his thighs together when Damian’s tongue slips up behind his ear to stroke over his scent gland, letting out a completely genuine moan in response.

No one… no one has ever done _that_ to him before.

“This is sensitive,” Damian needlessly observes. And Dick has to bite back the sarcastic response he wants to make that, _yes,_ yes of course it is. It’s his scent gland, _everyone_ is sensitive there. But then Damian repeats the action, slipping the tip of his tongue behind and over the shell of Dick’s ear, until he’s writhing and all other thought flies out the window; only the heavy weight of his alpha above him is enough to hold him down. Meanwhile Damian’s hands slide down across his chest, stopping to thumb his sore nipples before caressing over his ribs, waist, then onto his hips. They squeeze him there, right over the bone, and Dick shudders as he tracks the slow run of slick starting to drip down between his thighs.

After that, things takes a distinct turn for the - not worse, per se, but definitely not for better so far as Dick’s self-control matters.

Damian seems determined to map out every inch of his body: first with this hands, then with his mouth. The slow crawl of his hands across his skin is torture alone, but when he follows it with the press of his lips and the slide of tongue… oh then Dick has no hope left at all.

He moans when Damian sucks on his nipples, working his tongue around the delicate hoops of the gold chain through them. Gasps when he leaves bite marks over his ribs and kisses over his belly button, and then outright whimpers when those hands force his thighs apart, exposing every inch of his needy hole and straining cock to the prince’s hot and heavy gaze. Dick has to bite his own lip and dig his fingers into the fabric of the cushions at the first brush of fingers over his cock, “Please… please…”

“Please what?” Damian asks, smirking at him from where he’s slid back, now half-laid between the cradle of Dick’s spread thighs.

“P-please touch me. M-Master!” Dick says, then for good measure adds, “I… I need you. I need you so much.”

Damian’s face flushes with pleasure at the request, an expression that highlights the youth beneath the royalty. Then his left hand is curling around Dick’s cock, while the fingers of his right delve deeper down between his legs; pressing against the wet and aching entrance just behind his balls. It’s a dual assault, one that has Dick moaning as his hips rock, trying to thrust his cock up faster into the loose hold of Damian’s fist, as well as push back into the barely-there press of Damian’s fingers against him.

Apparent torturer that he is, the prince keeps teasing him. The curl of his hand around Dick’s length provides nowhere near enough friction to be satisfying, and the barely-there nudge of his fingertips inside him? The less said about that the better. It takes everything Dick has to hold the growl back behind his teeth at the treatment.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Damian murmurs, “Exquisite. I could have paintings commissioned of you this way, statues of you as if you were Adonis himself. Maybe I would have them placed in here, so you would have to look at them every day as I take you.”

Dick pants, not understanding how Damian still has control of himself. He can smell his arousal all around him; a deep, thick, and hearty spice that sits heavy on his tongue. It almost burns his nose, and stirs the lust already curling in his loins. He doesn’t give a crap about Adonis, he wants to say; about art or paintings or anything else. He just wants Damian to fuck him, hard and fast. To knot him before he loses control of himself.

In a last ditch attempt at getting what he wants through the channels he’s been taught, Dick tries one of the oldest tricks in the book, bending his head back further and completely baring the arch of his throat as he lets out a long and throaty whine. It’s about as blatant a ‘fuck me’ signal as you can get without actually saying those two words out loud.

The effect it has on Damian is immediate, as he stiffens, alpha scent flaring in response. Dick bites his lips, feeling the tightening of the hand around his cock as he bucks his hips up into it. “ _Master._ ”

“You… you…” Damian says, actually at a loss for words, if only for a moment. Then he’s letting go, withdrawing both hands from Dick as he drops his weight down on top of him. He claims Dick’s lips in a hungry and fervent kiss, shoving his tongue deep within his mouth as he growls and drags their hips together.

It’s close, but not enough. And that feeling, the heavy rolls of the alpha’s clothed erection against him, has precisely the wrong effect Dick was hoping for. He _needs_ Damian to be naked. He _needs_ Damian to be inside him. And he can’t… he can’t…

He feels Damian grind down against him once more, close enough that the tip of his own cock drags against the cloth covering his alpha’s belly, leaving a wet trail behind it. He breathes in the overpowering scent of him, feels the scrape of his teeth over his lower lip, and that’s when Dick knows he can’t hold back anymore. He knows what he needs, what he wants, and he’s going to get it, one way or another.

* * *

Richard is a _dream_. His omega is gorgeous, sensitive, and so responsive, yet so very _obedient_ despite his clear desire. Those hands stay at his sides, curling into pillows and carpet instead of touching him, and the enticing, _perfect_ cadence of his begging is sweeter than any other omega he can remember having tasted before.

Maybe it's the approaching heat. He's never had an omega during their heat; maybe this is normal behavior and he was simply unaware. Already Richard's scent is overpowering, seeming to sink beneath his skin even though his own is reacting; equally powerful, he's sure. He's managed to hold onto control despite it, managed to strangle back his baser desires to explore the omega offered beneath him with patience, to properly appreciate just how beautiful of a gift he's been given. And it is _beautiful_.

But then Richard arches his throat back until it's completely exposed, _whines_ long and from the depths of his throat, and what little of his mind he's clung to stutters to a halt. He can only stammer, can only claim the omega's mouth and brace his hands to either side of those shoulders, grinding his hips down without any semblance of control. He's still clothed and now it feels like an irritation, like an all too solid barrier between him and the wet, open entrance between the omega's legs. _His. Untouched_.

He growls into Richard's mouth, trying to drag himself far enough back to gather the wits to remove the barriers, but the omega's mouth tastes so sweet and he can't focus, can't—

There are hands at his shoulders and he startles, drawing back to look at one of them. Which he does only a moment before his omega twists legs around his, pulls at one shoulder and pushes at the other, and abruptly he's on his back. Just barely winded, Richard kneeling over him and hands shoving his tunic up, splaying across his skin and leaving stinging scratches along their paths. He gasps and those hands are at the sash holding his pants on, working almost _desperately_. He quickly yanks the tangled tunic over his head so his arms are free again.

"Richard?" he asks, pushing up on his arms and then reaching out with one hand.

Richard's gaze snaps up, the blue of his eyes nearly entirely eaten by the blown pupils. His pants come undone, get shoved down enough to free the heavy swell of his cock and despite himself he gasps at the rush of cool air. His hand touches Richard's arm, his mouth parts to tell his omega to wait, to stop, or maybe to just snarl and remind him that _he_ is the one in control here, but then Richard flashes _teeth_ at him. He stares, just long enough for Richard to grab his shoulders and _shove_ him back down, cracking him back down into the carpet with not inconsiderable force.

Hips roll, and his mind spins in hopeless circles as Richard's opening drags along his cock, painting him with wetness, before he truly registers that Richard is _growling_ at him. His mouth drops open in shock, then in _desire_ at another roll of those hips, and he stares helplessly as Richard reaches down between them. Fingers curl around his cock, angle it, and then he sucks in a sharp breath and grabs at Richard's hips as the omega takes him in.

The growl turns to a whine, and distantly he understands that he is gripping the curve of those hips hard enough to bruise, not that he can stop it. Richard is arching, both hands coming to press against the center of his chest for support, and he is tight and wet and _so very hot._ He can't—

He bucks up and Richard shouts, nails digging into his chest as his omega all but collapses forward onto him. He snarls, dragging the omega's hips down harder and forcing him to take every inch, to accept every bit of him. Richard cries out into his chest, clenching tight around him, trembling. For just a moment, as instinct eases a touch in the face of being fully buried in his omega, of having taken the first step to truly claiming him, he worries that he may have actually hurt Richard. His omega is new, inexperienced, never before breached like this, and there's been no real preparation. Perhaps he should not have teased, perhaps he should have sunk his fingers inside this perfect heat when he had a chance and made sure that Richard was ready for him.

But then Richard is all but _clawing_ at his chest and he hisses, the minor pain making him buck up again, grinding Richard down against him. Richard shoves up, shoves _his_ breath out in the process, and is arching and whining, pushing down against him as if trying to get more of his cock, trying to get it _deeper_. Knees press in hard against either side of his hips, and he can only guide with his hands as Richard pushes up, lets him slide out to the sound of slick, wet, skin and then drops again to take him. There's that same clench, that same moment where Richard cries out, and he finds himself baring his teeth, bracing his feet against the ground to get leverage.

He grips Richard's hips tighter, curls himself up a few inches off the ground, and the next time Richard starts to drop he pulls down at the same time that he snaps his hips up. The sharp cry is music to him, music to the instinct devouring any remnants of his mind left and demanding that he take this omega, knot him, _claim_ him and breed him full. He growls between his teeth and takes control of the pace, using his grip to hasten the rise and fall of his omega, to _take_ him with as much force as he's capable of in this position. It doesn't feel like enough. It doesn't…

Another snarl, and he starts to twist, so he can get the omega beneath him, sprawled out because he'll have more power that way, be able to make him whine and whimper how he needs to.

Richard slams him onto his back again, teeth bared in a displeased growl, and suddenly he doesn't have control anymore. Suddenly Richard is riding him desperately, slamming down onto him and digging nails into his shoulders, enough force in those hands to keep him down. He shudders, stares. It's a challenge, a demand, and an omega shouldn't— He shouldn't allow— _Gods_ , but Richard looks incredible.

His knot starts to swell.

He can feel the tugging deep in his gut, and Richard can no doubt feel the tugging elsewhere because the nails in his shoulders rake down across his chest hard enough to break his skin. Richard pushes down, takes him fully and grinds into it, giving a cry that he echoes with a shout as they lock together. Richard's head falls back, marked throat on display, muscles clenching hard enough around him to steal his breath as his omega trembles and comes with a low, broken whine.

He can't tear his eyes away, not even to look down at the splash of come he can feel across his abs. He stares, heat and pleasure scorching through his veins and his gaze locked on that throat, mouth curving into an instinctive snarl as he rocks his hips up, filling his omega with his seed, with _him_. The massaging clench and release of Richard's inner walls pulls it from him, makes his breath catch, and he finds himself stroking the hips beneath his hands, letting his fingers drift down to strong thighs.

Richard gives a blissed out sound, a soft little cry that drags his mind to a complete standstill, and then folds forward. He stares as Richard curls up on his chest, head at his shoulder and arms drawn in close. A nose rubs at his throat, Richard breathes in, and his eyes all but roll back in his skull as the omega clenches around him and makes a distinctly satisfied, _happy_ noise almost directly into his ear. Helplessly, he clutches at the thighs under his hands, turning his head until it's pressed down against Richard's hair and every breath he inhales draws the combined scent of omega and sex down into his chest.

Eventually, when his mind slowly comes back to him and he can start to think again, the facts return to him.

"You _growled_ at me," he says, his disbelief laid naked in his voice.

Richard shifts on top of him, humming something that sounds like unconcerned agreement.

"You are an _omega_ ," he clarifies, twisting his head so he can look down at the relaxed bliss of Richard's expression. "That is hardly proper omega behavior."

Another hum, followed by a rolling, shifting rock of motion along his body that makes him nearly choke on his own breath. "Took too long," Richard murmurs, as he does it a second time. His knot is still unquestionably caught, but the movement tugs against it and he can hardly catch his breath at the feeling. " _Needed_ this," is the second part, breathed into his ear and followed by the flick of a tongue against his skin, close enough to his scent gland to make him gasp and jerk his hips up.

Richard gives a low moan, nose rubbing against his throat again as if his omega is actually scent-marking _him_. He is… not as opposed to the idea as he probably should be.

He calms his breath, squeezes Richard's thighs again, and then insists, "Next time, you will allow me to mate you how I wish to. Properly."

He can feel Richard smile. "Yes, Master." 

* * *

 

It takes a further twenty minutes by Damian’s admittedly fuzzy counting for them to untie. Minutes he spends running his fingers through his omega’s soft black hair, and over the smooth skin of a back that has never known the scarring touch of a whip.

Either Richard has always been an obedient slave, or Wilson found other ways to punish him whenever it had been necessary through the course of his training.

By the time they separate, Richard is already aching to be touched again, rolling his hips in a message that Damian can’t fail to interpret. But he himself is slower to recover, so he sates his omega’s needs temporarily with the push and curl of his fingers inside him, laying Richard out underneath him until he’s begging to be tied once more.

Despite the flash of his teeth when Damian slides back into him, this time Richard holds to his promise and allows himself to be mated the way Damian wishes it. Flat on his back, with his legs wrapped around Damian’s hips. As glorious as it was to have Richard writhing above him, the submission he shows in their second coupling pleases Damian’s dominating instincts in other ways.

Richard is beautiful, strong, _his_. There is nothing Damian would not do to satisfy him.

After that, time seems to blur.

The full sway of Richard’s heat paints a haze over the next three days, and Damian loses track of everything but the sweet scent of him. The taste of his skin. The heated _give_ of his body when he welcomes Damian inside of him. It’s intoxicating, addictive, and by the end of those three days he doesn’t think there is a single surface in the harem he hasn’t taken Richard on, or against. His omega seems determined to drag him around every part of the harem rather than lingering in one single spot the way Damian would expect of him.

Normally an omega in heat would den. Find a place that felt safe, warm and familiar, then stay there until the heat was over. But when Damian thinks about it later on - when he’s capable of thinking about it - he thinks it makes sense. The entirety of the harem is new and strange to Richard: there is no one particular spot he can feel secure in, and spreading his scent around every room within its boundaries is the most logical way to overcome that. He’s making the space his own at the same time as satisfying his more carnal desires. It’s efficient, and Damian certainly has no complaints in the moment about being used in such a manner.

He leaves for his quarters only once during that heat, at a point when Richard is deep in slumber and unlikely to miss his presence; just long enough to catch the arm of a servant and order fresh food and water to be delivered outside the harem doors each day. Hearty, filling food, suitable for sustaining an omega’s strength through the exhausting strain heat puts upon their bodies.

Damian feeds Richard himself at every mealtime, not out of any particular need but simple self-indulgence. He enjoys watching those warm lips close around his fingers, and feeling the smallest nips of Richard’s teeth when he takes the food from his hand. When one tray includes a pot of honey, Damian dips his fingers inside the vessel and lets Richard lick them clean for him, until neither of them can stand the wait any longer and Richard climbs back on top of him, enthusiastically fucking himself back onto Damian’s cock until they’re tied once again.

(And Richard is on top of him more times than Damian would ever admit to anyone outside these rooms. He’s never known an omega so demanding before.)

By the time the heat ebbs, Damian himself is sore, covered in scratches and bites. He wakes on the morning of the fourth day, sighing as he finally registers the absence of that all consuming heat-scent. Richard still smells good and sweet, of course, but no longer in a way that significantly muddles Damian’s mind and compels him to carnal desire.

They’re in one of the bedrooms. The one Damian thinks Richard had chosen for himself before they began this. He turns his head, looking down at the sleeping form still curled up against his own. Richard looks peaceful in sleep, content, as Damian runs his hand up his smooth back to his neck, tracing the many bite marks he left there before settling his fingers against the only one that truly matters. The wound Damian’s teeth left over the line of Richard’s spine is thickly scabbed over by now, well on its path to healing and leaving behind the scar that will ensure everyone knows from now on that the omega is claimed. That he is _owned._

At the press of his fingers, Richard stirs, and when he lifts his head Damian is treated to the sight of a pair of hazy blue eyes looking back at him. “Master...?”

“It’s all right, you may go back to sleep if you wish.”

But Richard shakes his head despite the permission. Instead he shifts, his legs brushing against Damian’s as he levers himself to sit up, wincing as he does. It’s hard not to feel a beat of sympathy for Richard; after three days of near constant fucking, he must be incredibly sore. Damian lets his hand slip from the back of his neck, down to stroke over his hip in what he means to be a reassuring motion.

Richard shivers a little as he wraps his arms loosely around his stomach. Post-heat sensitivity is also a factor here.

He doesn’t have to - Richard is his slave, not his mate - but Damian still feels the compulsion to take care of him in his vulnerable state. As the one and only member of his harem so far, there is hardly anyone else to step in and offer that necessary contact in his place. It will mean more time lost before he goes to resume his royal duties, but it’s hardly an excess on top of what has already been spent within the harem walls.

“You need a bath. _We_ need a bath.” He tells Richard, moving to sit up himself and pull his omega against his chest again, dropping a kiss onto one bare shoulder. “Come.”

Every bedroom in the harem comes with its own fitted bath and toilet facilities - as the pool in the central room was meant to be purely ornamental, rather than for bathing. For a prince’s omegas there are luxuries on top of luxuries, and Richard doesn’t protest as Damian stands first, then tugs him up onto his feet as well. Richard’s legs are shaky enough that Damian feels it prudent to keep an arm around his waist while they walk into the bathroom as a precaution against the risk of a fall.

Richard certainly doesn’t complain, leaning into him the entire time. His obvious sensitivity makes it harder for Damian to take his hands off him when he sits Richard down at the edge of the marble bath so that he can open the valves to the constant supply of hot water maintained by the slaves in the bowels of the palace, running the water until it’s just deep enough to be comfortable.

“Here,” he says, taking Richard’s hand again to help him slide down into the bath. As he does Damian gets a full glimpse of the bruises on his hips, and the remains of his own seed between Richard’s thighs. Both sights give him a small thrill, reinforcing his feelings of ownership, and if he weren’t so completely exhausted himself now, he’d be tempted by the opportunity to take Richard once again in the bath.

The hot water does the trick Damian was hoping for. Richard’s eyelids flutter when he’s settled down in it up to his neck, and the haze that has covered his eyes from the moment he woke up begins to fade. Richard stretches out his long limbs before looking back up at Damian with a tired but coy smile, “Are you joining me, master?”

“I did say we both needed a bath, did I not?” Damian climbs into the bath, and no sooner has he done so than Richard is pressing up against him again. His head settles at Damian’s shoulder, while one hand curls against his chest. Damian finds himself reaching automatically for the chain Richard had worn the first time they met, before remembering it had been discarded as an annoyance some time ago in one of the other rooms when it kept getting tangled around them. “Better?”

“Mmhm.” Richard hums, then belatedly remembers that is not a suitable answer. He follows up with a less sincere sounding, “Yes master,” as if him addressing Damian that way is a mere courtesy on his part, rather than a requirement of his social station.

Damian should chastise him, but… instead he reaches for one of the sponges on the side of the bath, wetting it as he reaches down under the water to start scrubbing Richard clean, starting with the mess of dried come over his belly from his own releases.

His omega hums and purrs at the care, his fingers sliding higher up Damian’s chest to brush against his jaw as he kisses his neck. “That feels good, master.”

“I daresay it does,” Damian says, “You are not too sore, I hope?”

Richard shakes his head, though he bites his lip when Damian moves the sponge lower down and between his legs. “No, I…” he stops, eyes closing for a moment when the sponge rubs against his entrance. “It’s not as bad as I thought it might be.”

“And I didn’t hurt you at all?”

He feels Richard shake his head again. “No, master.”

“Good.”

Damian takes his time washing Richard down, before moving onto himself. He even goes so far as to soap his omega’s hair and rinse it out for him, trying to keep it impersonal and largely failing. When Richard leans up and kisses him gratefully afterwards, Damian responds by deepening it, holding him tightly against his chest as his tongue licks into all the corners of Richard’s mouth.

“... you…” he says, panting slightly when they finally part, “Are making it very hard for me to resist taking you again, and I do not think that would be strictly comfortably for you right now.”

Without overpowering demands of heat governing his senses, Richard will be far more sensitive to the aches and pains of his own body again. If they have sex now, Damian is almost entirely certain it _would_ hurt him.

“It was just a kiss, master.” Richard says, dipping his head in an approximation of shyness that Damian is no longer sure he believes Richard genuinely possesses. A clear head clues him into many things he missed before. “To express my gratitude.”

Damian snorts. He moves his hand to rest over Richard’s stomach, absently wondering if his seed will quicken within his belly this time. The purpose of having a harem is not just for his own pleasure, but also to further his bloodline - though admittedly Damian is not in a rush to see that secondary goal fulfilled just yet. He’s still young, and doesn’t feel the same urge to secure his legacy that his grandfather does. “I’m sure. You are strange for an omega, you know.”

“Am I?”

Richard turns his face up to Damian’s. His wet hair is pressed back flat against his skull, except for a few errant strands clinging to his cheek. Damian absentmindedly brushes them away. “Yes, and I think you know it.”

“In what ways am I odd, master?” Richard asks him, a smile toying with the corners of his lips.

“You are aggressive, demanding. In ways that I would not expect from an omega, especially a slave.”

“I needed you.” Richard replies, his fingers tracing Damian’s collarbone. “I couldn’t bear your teasing, not then.” he pauses, licks his lips. “Did it displease you, that I acted that way?”

“It…” Damian starts, then has to stop to consider himself for a moment. “It surprised me. But it was not… unpleasant.”

Richard’s smile blooms across his face, brilliant, beautiful and full; a reward it feels like for Damian having said the right thing. He can’t deny the squirming feeling of pleasure in his chest in the face of that smile, even as he feels mildly disconcerted at how fully he’s come to value Richard’s presence beside him already.

An after effect of the heat. It has to be. He will calm down in both heart and mind over the next few days. They both will.

“I’m glad to hear that, master, since my purpose is to please you.”

“You have, and I expect you will continue to.” Damian leans in, allowing himself the indulgence of kissing Richard again. “But for now, what I require of you is that you continue to rest and recover from your heat.”

He can’t say for sure, but he thinks it’s relief for Richard to hear those words.

They linger in the bath a good thirty minutes more, until Richard is dozing against Damian’s shoulder again and he makes the executive decision that it’s time for them to get out. With exorbitant care, he lifts Richard in his arms, carrying him out of the water bridal style and back to the bed. The sheets are in dire need of washing, stained as they are with sweat, slick and seed, but in his post-heat stupor that is a reassurance to Richard rather than a discomfort. It leaves him surrounded by Damian’s scent, even as he himself prepares to leave the harem.

“I will make sure food and water is delivered soon, as well as suitable clothing for you.” In his mind’s eye, he already has a clear vision of what kinds of garments he would like to see Richard in. “For now, sleep well, Richard. I will return to you soon.”

Richard murmurs a sleepy assent, already having twined himself up inside one of the blankets on the bed.

Damian leaves him to it, slipping out of the bedroom and into the harem’s lounge. The sight of his own clothes left discarded on the floor is one he ignores, knowing that clean ones lie just a little further ahead in his own quarters. However, he does stop at the sight of one thing.

Richard’s chain. It lies coiled on the floor next to the pool like a snake, discarded out here at some early point in their joining. Damian steps over to it now, picking up the delicate gold links and wrapping them around his hand before carefully flexing his fingers to test the strength of the metal. _This_ he will take with him, he decides, hidden within his pocket as a small and pleasant reminder of what is now his until such time as he can return and place it back around Richard’s neck where it belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Skalidra's tumblr](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)
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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, long time no update on this one. We hope you enjoy the continuation of this trash fic XD

Dick sleeps for an hour after the prince leaves, then, yawning, rises with the intention to make the most of his time alone while he has it.

As Damian had promised, fresh clothing has been brought for him, left at the doorway of the bedroom by what Dick guesses — by the lack of obvious scent in the air — was a gelded beta servant; the only kind that would be allowed into the sanctity of any harem. He doesn’t hesitate to don the outfit, made of rich blue cloth. The top fastens via a golden hoop around his neck, then drops loosely down to mid-thigh. It’s sleeveless, and exposes a good portion of his chest and all of his back. No pants accompany the tunic, belted around his waist, but Dick doesn’t much mind; he’s worn clothing like this most of his life now.

Breakfast is a selection of fresh fruit and cold meat, and he helps himself to the choicest pieces, before — still chewing on an apple — setting out to make a proper tour of his new territory now that he’s no longer in the throes of heat.

The whole place smells of them. Him and the prince. Each bedroom, of which there are three, and the central lounge with its sunken floor, seating area and pool. They had been shameless in their rutting, and Dick maddened with a need to spread his scent across the unfamiliar space. It soothes him, just as much as the residual aching across his body and soreness at the back of his neck does, helping settle his body’s instincts into accepting the fact that this place really is his home now. Now, and hopefully always.

He explores each bedroom, and finds them more or less equals of each other. Every room is filled with soft silks and luxurious pillows; beds built into alcoves in the walls with curtains that can drawn around them. Perfect for denning, Dick notes in a detached sort of way, and with room enough for more than a few children, if and when they should come along — though he doesn’t want to think that far ahead right now, or to what could even yet be growing in his belly.

Instead, Dick turns his attention to the latticed windows at the edge of the room, and something he definitely didn’t notice before while Damian was busy fucking his heat from him: a door.

It’s made of the same red-hued wood as those that lead to the lounge, and then further out to the rest of the palace beyond the harem’s walls. Curious, Dick doesn’t hesitate to reach for the handle, and when he steps through the door to what lies beyond he can’t help but let out a delighted laugh.

A balcony curves around the outer walls of the harem tower, feeding between each bedroom door. From it, Dick looks down upon what must be the palace gardens, of which he has never seen the like before. There are more flowers and trees than he has names for, as well as rivers of water; decadent luxury for such a dry country as this. He can smell the sweetness of the blossoms, hear the sounds of birds calling, and observe the paths of the people down below if not hear the words of their conversations. It’s far more than he ever expected to find after he was first led inside the harem’s thick walls.

Eventually, one of the walkers looks up and sees him. Dick jolts as he is pointed out to the man’s companion, then allows himself another smile. He sees now, the point of the balcony is not just for the enjoyment of the omegas of the harem: it’s also meant as a demonstration of wealth and power. Here, those below can look up in admirable envy at that which belongs to their prince, and is forever beyond their grasp.

Dick can’t help himself, he waves, and gets a considerable amount of joy out of the courtiers shocked expressions at his response before he ducks back inside the door with a wild grin on his face.

Performance, he thinks. It’s all about performance. Dick had learnt that long before Slade ever got his hands on him.

And he’s glad that he did, because as he steps back out of the bedroom, he finds himself confronted by one of the last people he expected to see within these walls: the country’s king and Damian’s grandfather, Ra’s al Ghul.

Surprise stalls Dick, but only for a moment. Then, smooth as water, he’s sinking down onto his knees and bowing his body forward, making his obeisance with his head pressed firmly to the marble floor. It’s the only proper way for a slave — even one that belongs to a prince — to greet a man of Ra’s standing. “Your Majesty.”

He pitches his voice low and subservient, and tries not to be disconcerted when no immediate reply is forthcoming from the king. With no permission given to raise his head, Dick is forced to stay completely still as footsteps circle around him. He can feel the sensation of eyes raking over his body, prickling against the back of his neck, where the slide of his hair has exposed the raw, healing mark of Damian’s teeth.

“Get up,” Ra’s says, only when he’s done circling around him.

Dick raises himself to his knees, but keeps his head bowed. It’s the mark of a shy, newly deflowered omega in the presence of an alpha who’s not his own.

Ra’s makes an unimpressed noise. “Stand.”

He does as commanded, standing neatly with his hands clasped before him. Trying to appear just as he did before at the prince’s birthday feast, demure with his chain held in the hand of his master. The king however, is not easily fooled, and as he steps closer — tall as Damian is tall, though Slade is taller — it really does take effort for Dick not to give into instinct and step back. He manages it only — he thinks — because Slade was himself so intimidating at times, and never tolerated him stepping out of line no matter the reason. He has the experience, and he has Slade’s reminders echoing in his ears.

If Ra’s’ goal is to find something wrong with him, Dick’s got no delusions that he can stop it. Damian, despite his position and power, has no right to refuse the wishes of his grandfather, and won’t get in the way of Dick losing his head. More than likely literally. Better that Dick not offer any reason himself; he has to be perfect.

Another moment of examination precedes Ra’s speaking again. “Your name, remind me, what is it?”

“Richard, Your Majesty.” Unlike with Damian, Dick does not attempt to suggest his favoured nickname as alternative.

“Richard,” Ra’s repeats. Cool, dry fingers touch the base of Dick’s chin, forcing him to lift it up. He fights to not swallow as his head is turned this way and that, making him feel like a piece of livestock being judged at a fair. “You really are lovely to look at, aren’t you?”

It’s a trap, and Dick doesn’t take the bait. He keeps his mouth shut, continuing to avoid directly meeting Ra’s’ gaze.

Finally, his chin is released, and he’s allowed to drop his head back down again. “My grandson is very pleased with you, you know. As I’m sure is your former master for winning his favor.” Again, it’s a trap. Dick doesn’t reply. Not until the next question forces him to. “Tell me, did you yourself anticipate the beginning of your heat would coincide with your arrival here?”

__Yes__. Of course he had. Slade too had known, and planned it explicitly that way. Admitting that though would be as good as signing his own death warrant. “No, Your Majesty. I knew it would be close but I… I misjudged.”

“As did Lord Wilson, apparently.” Ra’s regard him cooly for a moment. “Allow me to be frank, Richard. I am not a foolish man, nor do I doubt the lengths others may go to for power. Lord Wilson pushed the very edges of what I will tolerate in bringing you here, but Damian did choose you, so for now I will allow it. So long as you continue to please him.”

Dick knows what’s beneath that sentiment. That if Ra’s detects in any way that he means harm, he will find his head sitting on a pike by the very next morning.

Dick bows his head, “That is my only goal, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Then I shall leave you to the rest of your day.”

The king’s cape flares behind him as he turns to head for the door, but it isn’t until they’ve closed completely that Dick allows himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Escaping Slade was one thing, but surviving his new life is likely to prove a whole new trial for him. He needs to do everything he can to solidify his bond with Damian.

And he needs to do it fast.

* * *

Damian had expected there would be consequences for skipping out on his royal duties for three days — without warning — to sate his new omega, but the sheer scale of tasks he’s assailed with after stepping outside his chambers seems more than a little unfair. Or at the very least engineered. Most likely by his mother, who had regarded him with cool amusement when she summoned him to meet her for breakfast this morning.

He had to fight not to squirm uncomfortably the whole way through, as she asked various pointed questions about his new omega. Alluded to things no sane person would want their mother to know of them, and clearly enjoyed his discomfort. Lastly, before he left, she gave him a stern look and word about treating Dick well, before shooing him off to play catch up on everything he’d missed.

The day passes slowly, interrupted only by a hurried lunch and then, finally, a summons to dinner. He finds his gaze straying in the direction of the tower many times throughout the day, but there’s no opportunity to slip away and Damian isn’t foolish enough to try and create or force one. No matter the temptation, he must focus on his work, lest he give his grandfather any excuse to delay him further. It would not be the first time he was kept working all night as consequence of shirking his duties, and Damian finds it’s rarely worth it to go against what his grandfather wishes.

He can be patient; Richard will still be there when he is released from dinner, and then there will be nothing to stop him from making up for time lost.

Distantly, Damian is aware that he is a bit… obsessed. There will have to be a balance struck between his duties and his harem, especially as it grows; they must wait on his pleasure, not the other way around. What time he can spare will have to be enough for Richard to be satisfied with (for both of them to be satisfied with).

Damian lets the servants change him into a fresh set of clothes for dinner, quietly pleased that someone’s seen fit to make it a high-collared outfit. Some of Richard’s marks are… a bit high. He’s kept them concealed throughout the day; he doubts his grandfather will much approve of them either. (Damian is… slightly unsure of protocol here. Is an omega in heat still responsible for what they do in that state? Could RIchard be faulted for not having as much decorum as he perhaps should have? Perhaps better not to chance any reprisal, regardless.)

It’s only his mother and grandfather in attendance at dinner, which he is quietly thankful for. He’s dealt with others all day; a bit of reprieve from that is welcome.

At least, that’s what he thinks until the first course arrives, and Ra’s pins him in place with a piercing gaze before he even gets a chance to reach for the food.

“So, how is your new omega, Damian? I assume you have some grasp of his suitability by now, given your absence.”

Damian glances towards his mother, but her expression offers no intent to assist so he finds himself judging his words, weighing what the correct answer is. Is his grandfather looking to gauge the quality of Wilson’s gift? Or is he seeking to judge how infatuated Damian may be, to see if there is a necessity that Richard be replaced or removed? It’s never easy to read the intentions of his grandfather, and both those options have very different acceptable answers. (Even worse, what if there is some third option that Damian hasn’t considered?)

“Satisfactory,” he settles on, adding a bit of warmth to his tone to soften the otherwise harsh descriptor. “I cannot speak to his true personality yet, outside of heat, but it was pleasant enough while he was affected.”

Ra’s gives a noncommittal hum in face of his answer, gaze dropping briefly to his plate as he surveys the food before lifting back. “I spoke with him this morning,” is the idle comment.

The sharp surge of jealousy takes Damian by surprise, but he manages to rein in every reaction except a quick inhalation. More than enough to betray him, still. “Oh?”

“Mm. He is lovely enough, if on the older side. Perhaps that will be acceptable though, if he is to be the head of your harem. Experience and maturity can be useful traits for such a position.” A choice piece is picked from Ra’s’ plate, between long fingers. “Be sure you get him with child before too long, Damian. It will get more difficult as the years pass, and that is his function after all. He should fulfill it.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” He has no desire to argue that ‘suggestion,’ even if it weren’t true. Richard will be… more than merely a broodmare, if he is at all suited to be a harem member, but that is the basic goal of it all. Children.

“Despite the excuses made,” his grandfather continues, “Lord Wilson is hardly the sort of man to ‘misjudge’ the timing on something as important as our presentation. I would suggest you keep a careful eye on that ‘gift;’ it may serve more purposes than you are aware of.”

Damian dips his head in quiet obedience, even as refusal threatens to rise up his throat. Richard would not— But then, it’s not as if he actually knows the omega. Not yet. Would it be so unimaginable that someone with ambition might plot to introduce an omega into a harem, to be used for manipulation or assassination?

His grandfather should live for years yet, but should anything occur Damian __is__ the heir. A well placed word in his ear could, theoretically, sway him to make choices he may not have otherwise. Choices advantageous to the one who placed that word. Not that a harem member should have that ability, in theory, but in practice there are many that take advice from them.

The food laid before him is eaten as an afterthought, as Damian considers what real potential there might be for Richard to be some sort of plant. An omega presented on the edge of heat, with just enough forwardness to appeal to him; as if specifically crafted.

Lord Wilson is not a careless man, no, but would he really be ambitious enough to try and engineer something like this? He holds only a minor stretch of lands, and a relatively unimportant title. To plot against a king…?

It’s not as unlikely as Damian wishes.

* * *

Over the course of the day, Dick discovers that his quarters do hold one major flaw. A near criminal lack of anything to do.

There are the bedrooms and the balcony, yes, but as of yet there is nothing in them but trappings and essentials. A small stock of towels by each bath, and spare sheets for each bed hidden away in cabinets, but practically nothing else. Not even other clothes, though Dick assumes those will be delivered at some point, or someone will show up to take his measurements. The rooms are beautiful, but Dick can find nothing of any substance in them. No books, or games, or anything that might serve as entertainment.

He wastes some time taking stock of the various bottles and jars beside the bath, and then checking to see if each bath has the same (they do). Then he finds a nice, open space in the middle lounge and starts to run through a series of stretches, easing loose the stress and soreness that's accumulated in his limbs. When he feels as relaxed as he thinks he can manage (the bruises will just have to fade on their own), he retreats for a short nap, curled in the comforting, newly familiar mixing of his and Damian's scents soaked into the sheets. He still feels the weariness in his body, and knows the only fix for that is time and rest. The remnants of the heat's effects will take a day or two to leave him.

It's once he wakes from the nap that boredom begins to set in. He's still too sore to do many of his more acrobatic tricks, though he practices what he can manage, and the reduced list takes up only a short portion of his time. He nearly changes the sheets on the beds, just for something to do, but perhaps thankfully a servant arrives with lunch before he can succumb to the urge. Retreating to the balcony while the servant cleans up seems like a less hostile move than watching every step like instinct wishes him to, so he pushes himself to not make a bad impression quite yet.

By the time he finishes lunch, and steps back inside, the servant is gone and the place is clean. All discarded clothes are gone, the sheets have been changed, and everything is neatly back in its place. It's not unlike when Slade's servants would come through to clean, though those at least he knew by name and face. Getting used to faceless servants is just one of those things Dick thinks he'll have to learn; he doubts it's proper protocol for a member of a royal harem to make friends with the palace's servants.

The rooms still smell like them, but Dick curls himself back up in his chosen bed because the sheets don't, and that seems utterly unacceptable to him with his instincts as heightened as they are.

Even with wasting his time dozing, and a long, second soak in the baths, he's still interminably bored by the time the door to the harem opens again for more than just a servant.

He hears the main door open first, louder than any servant has done it, and the sound prompts him to slip out of the bed and find out who’s entered his territory. (Strange, that after only a few days that’s how he thinks of it, and most of that time he wasn’t even fully aware.)

It’s Damian who’s entering, and Dick smiles even before he remembers to slide down to his knees, his hands against the ground and head bowed as he gives an eager, “Master; welcome back.”

There’s not an immediate answer, though Damian does approach. It isn’t until Dick can see Damian’s shoes where he’s drawn to a halt just ahead of him, and still no word comes, that a thread of nervousness worms its way into his chest. He thought everything this morning went well, but maybe… Did Ra’s say something to Damian about their talk? Has Damian been offended by something to do with the room? It wasn't __him__ that cleaned it.

Or maybe… Maybe it's just that Ra's' scent is lingering somewhere, and Damian is displeased by any other alpha's scent in this sanctum.

Dick keeps himself still, subservient, but asks, "Master, have I done something to anger you?" He hasn't quite gotten a good whiff of Damian's scent yet, and the lack of that knowledge is a little unnerving. He can't try for one though, not without moving, and instinct as well as training both tell him that would be an error.

Damian's words are short, restrained, as he says, "Richard. There are questions I have that I require answers for. You will provide them."

That's… not promising.

"Of course, Master. I'll answer anything you wish me to."

"You may sit," Damian grants, still with an edge.

Dick keeps his head bowed, but does straighten his back to sit high and poised, hands folded across his lap. "Please, ask me, Master. Anything I can give, I will be happy to."

The snapped, "Will you?" takes him off guard, and Dick can't quite help the flinch. He makes himself settle, as Damian continues, "Even if it is to do with your former master?"

Oh.

Well, that's a direction Dick was hoping things would never go, but then, that hope might have been underestimating his new masters. It doesn't take much to see the 'coincidences' of Dick's arrival here as manipulation instead of a turn of fate, and the al Ghul family aren't known as anything close to fools. Surely it was an inevitability that they would look more closely at how Slade brought him here, and wonder if his presence is truly intended as nothing more than a gift.

He considers for a moment, judging the different options available, and then takes a breath and lifts his head to meet Damian's eyes. Everything else he makes sure is open — the turn of his throat, palms face up on his legs, knees parting just slightly — but he holds Damian's gaze with as much deference as he can manage. "I will answer __anything__ you ask," he promises, trying to impress how much he means that.

Damian looks a little bit startled, enough to break through the guarded anger in his expression (and, if Dick's not just kidding himself, the tinge of hurt there too). There's a moment of pause, where Damian's arms cross over his chest and he glances away. Then he says, "Wilson. Did he know your heat would come at the same time as the presentation?"

"Yes. We both did. He chose to take the opportunity; I had no say in the matter."

The eyes staring down at him narrow, and Damian is very still when he asks, "Do you have any other purpose in being here?"

" _ _No__ ," Dick stresses, and he's thankful that he can be completely honest. "My only purpose was to serve as a gift, to gain favor for Lord Wilson. That's what I was trained as. Whatever his plans are now, he never spoke of them around me."

The fact that he's telling the truth makes it easier to stay steady under Damian's gaze, though his leftover heightened instincts aren't real pleased with being looked at like Damian is looking at him, or of meeting his alpha's eyes when he's displeased. Thankfully, he's had a decent amount of practice staying still through the weight of a focused gaze. Slade was always intense, even when he wasn't actually unhappy.

“Truly?” This time, there’s a hint of something almost like desperate hope there. Damian __wants__ to believe him.

“Yes, master.” He dips his head, bows it to bare the back of his neck as he expands, “He always intended to sell me. I know he wanted to gain favor from that, but he expected that I would someday be in someone else’s home so I was never told of any plans past my selling; he didn’t want to risk that I might tell them to a new master.” He pauses a moment, then decides to take the risk to add, "If I knew anything, I'd tell you. I swear."

The feet in front of him shift, and then Damian slowly sinks down to his knees before him. Dick doesn't yet lift his head. "Why would you?"

It takes him a few moments for him to figure out how to express the feeling and instinct in his chest, but the words come easily once they start. "Lord Wilson was my master, but he was never anything more. His world was never my home, we both knew that. Here… This place __can__ be a home to me, if I please you, and I'd be glad to tell you anything that he planned for the chance to stay here." Now Dick lifts his head, just enough to meet Damian's eyes. "My loyalty to him ended when I was gifted to you, my alpha. If I knew anything useful enough I thought it would be proof to tell you, I would."

Damian studies him, and for a moment his expression is open. Young. Then he lifts both hands, takes Dick's and wraps them in his own. "I do not think I need further proof, Richard. My grandfather doubted, but I believe you had no choice in the role you were given to play." The fingers on his squeeze, as Damian tilts his head. "Though I would hope that this is not merely another role?"

Finally, Dick smiles. "Not so far."

The danger is receding, letting the knot in Dick's gut unwind as things ease, and he dares to lean in and press a small kiss to the corner of Damian's mouth. One that quickly becomes another, as Damian turns his head and catches his lips more directly. Dick tilts himself forward, squeezing Damian's hands back as he gives a soft, pleased sound into the kiss. One hand tugs free from his, and then fingers slide into his hair and Damian takes control, pushing forward to first angle him back and then guide him back against the floor.

Dick relaxes and enjoys, encouraging the touch and reassurance with a gentle hand on Damian's side, and more of the same soft sounds. Till one of Damian's hands dips between them, sliding beneath the hem of his tunic and prompting a grunt of discomfort before he can stifle it.

Damian pauses, breaking the kiss to look down at him. His fingers linger, but don't press any further. "You're sore."

It's not a question, but Dick treats it like one anyway. "I will do whatever you like, master," he's quick to reassure, "but… I would prefer to please you some other way, if you find that acceptable."

The first reaction he gets is a frown, but before he can do anything more than take a shallow breath Damian is shifting back, hands sliding away from him. "Nonsense. You have yet to recover, you need more rest. My desires can wait until you've healed, Richard."

"Thank you," Dick says, and he says it with a smile and real feeling. It's nice to be catered to (certainly, his training never allowed leeway for aches and such).

Damian's cheeks redden just slightly as he looks away, then moves to stand and offer an arm to help Dick do the same. "Come bathe with me instead; it has been a long day and I shall be more than satisfied with being clean and by your side once more."

Now that the tension has passed, Dick recalls his own long, __long__ day. "May I request something, master?" he asks, as he falls into step at Damian's side.

"Of course."

"May I ask for some form of diversion? To keep me occupied during the day?" Damian blinks, looking over at him with slight puzzlement, and Dick expands, "You have your duties, master, and I know that you may only spare so much time for me. If I may, though, I would ask for books, or supplies for some sort of crafting, so I might keep myself busy during the hours you must be gone. I've never been very good at being idle."

"I had not realized the rooms were bare of such," Damian answers, with a touch of what sounds like guilt. "Absolutely, I will make sure a selection is delivered to you tomorrow, and if you require anything that does not arrive, you may always ask a servant to supply it. They are here to serve you as well as me."

He kisses Damian again for that, leaning in without breaking their stride and kissing the corner of his jaw. "Thank you, master."

His cheeks redden a touch further, and Dick finds himself thoroughly enjoying the sight. "There is no need to thank me, Richard. It is something I should have seen to already." He pauses by the door to the bath, inside Dick's chosen room, and adds more quietly, "And 'Damian' will do fine, when there are no witnesses."

"Thank you, Damian."


End file.
